American Beauty
by WhiteWings9
Summary: Ivan Braginski, awkward university student with a rather poor grasp of the internet, is infatuated with a mysterious blogger who posts pictures of himself in various states of undress and kinkiness on a certain picture blogging site. Sexyblogger!AU.
1. Chapter 1

**American Beauty  
Chapter 1**

Ivan was finding it difficult to concentrate. When he caught himself reading and re-reading the same lines without absorbing any of the information, he gave up and put away his textbook, and dragged his laptop from the table to where he sat in bed. It was an old, beat up model he had bought from a second-hand hardware store. It was a little slow in starting up and the cooling fan whirred with an alarming amount of clunking, occasionally failing altogether and causing the machine to pack up. But lately he had gotten pretty good at predicting its moods and had not suffered blackouts as often.

Once the computer finished booting up, he clicked open Internet Explorer (he had given the supposedly superior Firefox and Google Chrome a pass in favour of the familiarity of IE), and carefully typed into the address bar: .com.

A thrill ran up his spine as Tumblr's familiar blue filled his screen. He pushed up his glasses that were forever slipping down his nose, and slid a finger across the laptop's touch pad so the pointer was over the log in button and clicked it. Carefully, he typed in his username and password and fiddled some more with the touchpad so he could click 'Log in'. He was happy to see the little timer spinning onscreen on his first try (he usually made mistakes when logging into sites and had to put in a few more attempts), and settled back against the headboard to wait for the page to load.

Ivan had come across the blogging site purely by chance. Before, he had only every used his computer for research and typing up his work, and anything beyond that had been beyond him. But he had heard that the internet also provided virtually free access to pornography. Scandalised at first, his curiosity eventually got the better of him and he made the decision to explore. And that was how he found American Beauty on Tumblr.

The page on his screen finally settled and he was greeted with a new picture on his dashboard, this one relatively chaste (the Beauty was still clothed), captioned: "Tonight is going to be extra special!"

Pleased to have caught the Beauty online, Ivan shifted into a more comfortable position and carefully scrolled down his dash to review some of the Beauty's older posts.

All the pictures were shot with what must be a very good camera, but the Beauty always kept his face out of shot or doctored them so it was blurred. Ivan hungered to see what his Beauty looked like, but he understood his discretion. His eyes roved over his favourite post from the night before; the Beauty had gone for a French maid theme, and he sat here with the skirt up and his legs spread, revealing his painfully straining cock in a pair of lacy panties. The second picture right underneath it had him without the panties.

Ivan felt a stir in his own pants, and he undid the flies of his jeans to reach in and touch himself. He scrolled back up to the top of his dash and clicked the refresh button (he never really got the hang of the instant scroll to top button on Tumblr, nor the unnecessity of scrolling to the top of the page to click refresh on the address bar).

The page took some time to reload, but once it did he was rewarded with another post from the Beauty. It was a near full-body length shot of the Beauty cut off at the bridge of his thin, straight nose just underneath his eyes, and he had a knowing smirk displaying a set of Hollywood-perfect teeth as his hand lifted aside his unbuttoned shirt to reveal a muscled and slight tanned torso bound in leather restraints. Ivan stared at it for a while, his heart speeding up a little. He scrolled down (index finger pushing clumsily at the touchpad over the scroll bar) to see it captioned: "Wore this under my clothes all day on campus."

That sent a delicious stab of pleasure straight to his groin. He sat further back into his pillow and pulled his jeans further down, just as the little red notification came up signalling a new post. He clicked refresh again.

The new picture took him by complete surprise. It was a shot of the Beauty's face tilted up to the camera. His eyes were obscured behind a visor-like blindfold and his mouth was spread open with a leather-and-steel O-ring gag. Ivan drank in every little detail. The caption read: "Wanna fuck my mouth?"

"Yes!" Ivan whispered, voice hoarse with need. He fumbled for the bottle of lubricant he kept in the bedside drawer (almost dropping it onto his laptop) and popped open the cap, poured a generous quantity into his hand. He brought out his erect cock fully into the open and started to stroke himself, imagining it to be the Beauty's mouth sucking and suckling on it.

Another red notification came up, and Ivan stabbed clumsily at the touchpad to refresh it. The Beauty was sitting in bed with his knees drawn up and spread. He was entirely naked save for the blindfold, the O-ring gag, and the restraints criss-crossing his body; round his neck, across his chest, wrapped around his thighs. A second picture was a close-up of the Beauty's groin and thighs. He was cleanly shaven down there, as always, and Ivan could see raw, angry marks where the leather had chafed at his skin all day, his arousal bound at the base with a painful-looking cock ring.

The caption simply read: "I'm horny."

Ivan pulled furiously at his cock, keeping the picture up as an aid to the fantasy of him fucking his Beauty, his precious Beauty all bound and gagged and egging him on in deep, guttural groans. The red notification came up again, this time numbering around six or nine, he couldn't tell in the haze of his pleasure. They were probably messages from admirers the Beauty liked to publish.

The thought of his Beauty having admirers other than him, the thought of sharing his Beauty with other perverts wanking off to the same pictures flooded him with a possessive rage, and he came too soon, spurting ropes of white sticky semen all over his hand and across his sweater. He leaned back against the headboard as he huffed and puffed, eyes closed to the explosion of colours dancing in the back of his eyes. The fan on his laptop was whirring dangerously loud, but he ignored it.

Once he had caught his breath, he slowly sat back up and stared at the sorry mess he had made of himself. He grabbed a tissue and cleaned up as best he could, tucking his sated cock back into his pants and shamefacedly dabbing at the tell-tale stains on his sweater.

Wiping his hands clean of lube and semen, he refreshed the page again and scrolled past the comments to the pictures of his Beauty playing with a dildo and finishing himself off. Oh what wouldn't he give to be the one to relieve his Beauty? He paused once more at the rare picture of the Beauty's face, and took in as many of the details as he could that weren't hidden underneath the blindfold. White, perfect teeth and a mop of soft, dirty-blond hair, an untameable cowlick flicking up a small lock of hair...

Wait.

That looked familiar.

Ivan's heart thundered as he tried to hold on to the flash of memory of having seen that cowlick in that shade of blond, and in his excited state he accidentally clicked on the scroll to top button (the page whizzing back to the top of his dashboard surprised him but he was more caught up with trying to locate just where he might have seen his Beauty).

Right at the very top of his dash was an anonymous message asking, "You have a lovely face, but what colour are your eyes? I want to see your eyes :("

American Beauty answered, "Haha sorry I won't show my eyes but they're blue :D"

And it him then just who American Beauty was. It hit him like a tonne truck and his jaw dropped open from the shock. His laptop gave a final shrill of complaint and blacked out, but Ivan did not notice. He was still trying to digest the fact that his Beauty had been in front of him all along, right under his nose as a matter of fact in the one lecture they shared on campus.

He was that popular all-round ladies' man Alfred Jones.

* * *

**A/n:** I just want to say thank you for the overwhelming interest and feedback for American Beauty. It was originally written at some stupid o'clock which I didn't think would become more than a oneshot. But here I am again at another stupid o'clock having cleaned up the first chapter and taken down the other chapters to be re-written.

This is just to say that I have completely restructured the story, and you can look forward to a completely revamped version in later chapters. I cannot say how quickly I am able to write and update since finals are looming (gulp), but hopefully it will be before Christmas.

And if not before then, definitely on Christmas. That's a promise :)


	2. Chapter 2

**American Beauty  
Chapter 2**

Alfred was running late for his morning lecture. He had been unlucky this semester in drawing almost all the morning slots, and was really struggling to get up and make them in time. Grabbing his notebook, pen, keys, and stuffing them into his backpack, Alfred gave his reflection in the mirror a quick glance, decided he could pass off his bed head as a 'wild' look, and rushed out of his room only to run straight into Francis who shrieked.

"Oh Alfred, you gave me ze fright!"

"Sorrycan'ttalklate!" Alfred shouted as he fled out of the house.

He really did not need an image of his landlord naked this early in the morning.

* * *

He burst into the classroom just as the lecturer finished taking attendance. Cycling the fifteen-minute journey from home to campus in five had worked a great stitch in his side, and he had to bend double at the door as he wheezed for enough breath to apologise.

"Just sit down, Jones," the lecturer said wearily. Alfred gave a small nod of thanks and stumbled towards an empty seat, shedding his pack and American football jacket.

The guy beside him gave a small jump as he dropped into his chair. He glanced over and was rather appalled at the sight of the most ill-fitting set of clothes a person could wear in a single sitting. The guy, a little on the heavy side, was wearing a bright woollen sweater with sunflower motifs and an amateurishly hand-knitted scarf knotted loosely around his neck. His glasses had thick, severely scratched lenses and cheap wire frames that were bent in places; they looked ready to fall off from where they perched at the tip of his large nose (he had to push them back up before they slipped off altogether, and were those granny chains hanging from the ear tips?!).

It was a veritable catalogue of what not to wear.

The guy - Brazlowski, was it? - gave him a flustered look and started shuffling his papers with an altogether unnecessary amount of noise. That earned him a stern look from the lecturer and he visibly quelled, a bear of a man cringing from the short, wizened old man.

_Weirdo_, Alfred mused, not particularly unkindly, and thought no more of him for the rest of the class.

* * *

The first thing Alfred did when he got back to his room was to switch on his computer (a state of the art Dell Studio desktop with a 30-inch screen and the best available editing software). As the system booted up with a low hum of electricity, he wandered back out of his room with the idle thought of fetching himself a glass of Coke.

"Oh hi, Angie!" he greeted as he entered the kitchen.

Angelique turned to face him, hugging a huge mixing bowl to her belly with one arm as she stirred with a long wooden spoon in her free hand. She was a pretty girl with a petite figure made for summer frocks and long, silky black hair she always kept tied back in a big ribbon. Her hair was a little unkempt at the moment, with powdery streaks where she must have brushed with her floury hands.

"Hello, Alfred. Didn't hear you, when did you get back?"

"Just now," Alfred said, and leaned in to kiss the cheek she offered. He had found the whole cheek-kissing thing weird at first, but he had gotten used to it since living with Francis and Angelique, and had even begun to incorporate it into his personal arsenal of flirting.

"Papa is going to make dinner tonight and I'm making cake for dessert, so don't snack too much, okay?" Angelique said as Alfred poked through the contents of the fridge.

"Sure, Angie, look forward to it," Alfred said with a wink, and was gratified to see some colour rise in her cheeks before she could turn away with a brusque, "Idiot."

Once back in his room, he sat down at his computer, opened up an incognito window, and logged into Tumblr. He was pleased to see that his inbox was full, messages from his adoring fans thanking him for the photographs he posted last night and sharing their stories of their wanking sessions over them. He read these avidly, publishing the best ones (or worst depending on your view) with minimal comments of his own, just to show off his popularity. The disparaging ones calling him names of a bigoted nature, he deleted without a second thought.

And there was the anon who always signed himself off as 'Mr Sunflower'. Where others posted lewd comments detailing just how they would like to screw him (and god do they turn him on), Mr Sunflower only sent corny messages singing praises of his beauty and sometimes even love poems. He had found them funny at first, and then slightly embarrassed on the anon's behalf. But when he continued receiving them he came to look forward to reading the little endearments from his shy admirer. These he never published, but he never deleted them either. He kept them in his inbox and re-read them whenever he needed some cheering up.

Just then, Skyped pinged with a message, and he clicked it open to read: "hi alfie (◕‿◕✿)"

Smiling, he typed back: "hey mei wuu2"

"nuthin much u?"

"just thinking abt u actually"

There was a slight pause.

"idiot"

Alfred took it that she was flustered and pumped his fist in victory, but Mei had already posted another message.

"r u free today? wan 2 go out for coffee?"

Alfred hesitated. What he had with Mei was an odd sort of relationship where they were all but officially dating. She was restricted by her well-to-do family from getting a boyfriend ("Especially if it's a 'white' boy," she had reported with an exasperated roll of her eyes), and he was not looking to get into anything serious. Somehow their interest for companionship was being mutually fulfilled, but he was also afraid of complicating things. He knew it was not quite fair on Mei, but he made it a point to turn down offers to meet up every once in a while, just to keep a comfortable distance.

"no good 2day?"

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had not seen Mei in almost two weeks.

"coffee sure let's get some! :D"

They made plans to meet up in town. Then he pulled Tumblr back up, wrote a hasty message to apologise for his absence this evening, and queued some backup pictures from his drafts to tide his followers over for the night. Messages expressing disappointment were already starting to pile in his inbox as he shut down his computer.

* * *

Ivan was a disappointed to read that his Beauty was not going to be online that evening. He closed his laptop and for the next couple of hours concentrated hard over the readings he had failed to complete the night before. It was around 6 when he finished. He had dinner and a quick shower, then retreated into his room to check on the Beauty's blog again.

The Beauty's queue was in full swing when he logged in to Tumblr (this time on his fourth try). Ivan gazed appreciatively at a photoset of ass shots in lacy underwear. He wondered how they would feel if he squeezed them, and felt his face heat up. Quickly, he scrolled down to the next post.

The picture was of the Beauty wearing a large brown bomber jacket and nothing else. It was captioned: "Bought this off Ebay, going to break it in tonight ;)"

Ivan clicked on the 'Read more' link. It brought him to a series of pictures of the Beauty posing in the jacket with his cock erect and his nipples hard. The Beauty was touching himself all over; a shot of him worrying his nipples, a shot of him sliding a hand down his muscled abdomen, a shot of him caressing his cock. Ivan paused his scrolling on a picture where the Beauty had thrown his head back, exposing his neck. He imagined kissing that neck, marring it, marking him his. His own cock was beginning to stir with interest.

He reached into his pants to stroke himself, and continued to scroll down the page. The Beauty was masturbating in earnest now, one hand massaging his shaft as the other held a thigh so he was spread.

Ivan brought out his cock. He sat back against his old swivel chair (the back rest complaining with a loud creak), and imagined the Beauty in his oversized bomber jacket and nothing else clambering to straddle him.

"Fuck me, Ivan," the Beauty whispered. He imagined the Beauty lowering onto his cock and groaned, stroked himself with a tighter grip.

The Beauty kissed him as he rocked on Ivan's cock, his ass hot and deliciously tight. He was pumping the Beauty's own erection, and the Beauty moaned into his sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. The Beauty gripped him tight around the shoulders and began to bounce in his lap, pulling up and slamming back down, up and slamming down. He bounced harder and harder, faster and faster; up and down and up and down, with lewd squelches and slaps of flesh on flesh, pleasure keening from deep in his throat.

Ivan felt a tautening from somewhere behind his naval that meant he was close to coming.

"AlfredAlfredAlfred_Alfred_!"

He came with a quiet groan, cupping his hand over the head of his penis in an attempt to minimise the mess, and flopping back in his seat as a familiar sense of release spread over him. But the afterglow was tinged with something else. As he cleaned himself up on autopilot, the fantasy continued to play in his mind's eye.

"You felt so big inside me," the Beauty was saying as he took Ivan's semen-covered hand and brought it to his kiss-reddened lips. "I loved it inside of me," the Beauty sighed as he began to lap at the mess.

And then it struck Ivan that the Beauty's face was no longer blurred or half-obscured. It was plainly Alfred's, all sky-blue eyes and perfect white teeth, smirking up at him as he popped the digits of Ivan's fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean.

Ivan felt a sudden wave of disgust with himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**American Beauty  
Chapter 3**

Ivan had stopped logging into Tumblr for over a week now. But it did not stop Alfred Jones from making a regular appearance in his dreams and, much to his horror and embarrassment, he was waking up to an erection almost every morning. He resolved not to touch himself on such occasions. He felt a fresh wave of guilt every time he broke that promise.

On campus he made a conscious effort to steer clear of Alfred Jones and his gaggle of admirers. Especially since Alfred had taken to wearing _that_ bomber jacket wherever he went. He sat as far away as he could from Alfred in lectures, avoided the cafeteria during lunchtime, and even changed his routes around the building to minimise his chances of running into Alfred. When he found himself fleeing into stairwells and empty classrooms at the merest glimpse of anyone wearing the same shade of brown as Alfred's jacket, he began to feel more than a little ridiculous with himself.

He wondered how long he could keep it up.

Being on similar courses meant that they were sharing a few of their basic modules in their first year, so it was only a matter of time before he found himself cornered in a lecture or seminar. For now, though, he tried to take comfort in the thought that the day was almost over without any mishap and he could go home once he picked up the book he had reserved in the library.

The sight of an unexpectedly jacket-less Alfred at the shelves for reserved books nearly made him turn right around to return another time. But Alfred had spotted him already and, for some reason, was beckoning him over.

"Hi! Hey, uh, could you give me a hand? I can't reach my book and I, uh, can't find the stepladder anywhere…"

Alfred looked about him a little helplessly, his lips tugging up at the corners in a sheepish smile. He raised a hand to rub the back of his head and his T-shirt tightnened visibly around the chest area. Ivan felt his face flame up.

"S-sure!" he heard himself squeak. "Wh-which book is it?"

Alfred pointed up to a particularly worn-looking book on the top shelf. It was indeed too high for him to reach without getting a stepladder, but Ivan could fetch it easily. He pulled it off the shelf – a copy of _Scorsese on Scorsese_ with a slip of paper reading, "Reserved for Alfred F. Jones" – and handed it wordlessly over.

Alfred broke into a wide grin.

"Hey, thanks!"

"Y-you're welc-come…"

Ivan fidgeted slightly on the spot, his shyness quickly descending into a deep fear that he, Alfred, knew everything. About his wet dreams, about his secret crush on him, everything. His stomach churned at the horrifying thought.

But Alfred, still smiling, only extended a hand and said, "Alfred Jones. Don't think we've introduced ourselves."

Trembling, unable to believe his luck, Ivan grasped his hand in both of his and tripped out, "I-Ivan, Ivan B-Br-Braginski. P-pleasure to meet you."

* * *

That night, Ivan caved in on himself and logged into Tumblr. He had forgotten his log in details from his short sabbatical, so it took a couple of failed attempts and a password reminder email before he could get in. Once in, he found that he had arrived right in the middle of the night's series of posts. He scrolled down his dashboard in search of the first post, anxious not to miss out on anything.

"My Halloween costume arrived this morning! No prizes for guessing who's my favourite Avenger ;)"

The Beauty was dressed in a superhero costume, standing in a heroic pose with a red-gloved hand clenched in a fist and a round shield strapped to his forearm. His eyes were deliberately obscured behind a black bar, but there was no mistaking that perfect smile and the dirty blond hair slicked back with gel. Ivan stared for some time at the costume. He was not overly familiar with comic book heroes, but even he recognised the costume with all the red and blue and the white star to be Captain America's. Wasn't there a recent movie about him?

The snug costume accentuated his Beauty's abdominal muscles, and happily he wasted no time in getting down and dirty. In the very next post he had disposed himself of the shield prop and was nursing a significant bulge in his skintight trousers. The second picture had the belt unbuckled and the flies undone, exposing his erect cock already beading at the tip with pre-cum.

The post was captioned, "Who's feeling patriotic tonight?"

Ivan closed his eyes and shuddered as a familiar thrill ran through him. He imagined wrapping his hand around his Beauty's cock, feeling its heat and hardness, stroking it further to attention. He imagined his Beauty moaning, melting to his caresses, a pretty blush blooming over his cheeks as his blue, blue eyes narrow and darken with lust.

His own pants were getting uncomfortably tight. Slowly, he allowed a hand to drift down to massage his arousal as scrolled to the next picture up. His Beauty was smiling a wide, knowing smile, holding up a string of plastic beads. Each bead was incrementally bigger than the last one, and they all alternated with the same patriotic colours of his costume. The caption read, "10 beads per string. 5 strings. That's 50 beads for 50 states.

"Want to see if I can fit it all in?"

When it became apparent just where his Beauty intended to fit in all those beads… Ivan swallowed. He was painfully aroused now. He hastened to pull out of his trousers, and gathered together a bottle of lubricant and a roll of toilet paper. Hesitantly, he clicked on the 'Read more' link.

* * *

Alfred was thoroughly satisfied with the night's photoshoot. He sat now at his desk, carefully disinfecting the anal beads he had used as he watched the number of notifications climb on his dashboard. He finished cleaning a string and set it down, and reached over to refresh the page. Quickly he scanned through the likes and reblogs, and read the one or two comments people had added.

When he scrolled back to the top of his dash, he was pleased to see that he had also gained a fair few more followers. Someone must have shared his pictures on a fandom blog and tapped him into a new audience. The thought of fellow Captain America fans subscribing to his explicit photoblog filled him with some pride. He clicked open his inbox and began reading his some of his fan mail and asks.

_ur a wicked cap, beauty ;D_

_Your ass looked so tight I could barely stand it! Hnngh!_

_Lovely ass, Cap! *smacks*_

_Oh my, these Captain America photographs were wonderful. I shall endeavour to look at the rest of your picture blog. You have made a new fan in me. Thank you, and a good evening to you.*_

_hoooooooooooly sheeeeeeeeeet!11! how didja take it all in11! fagggggg!111_

Alfred was in high spirits. More mail was coming in, but it was getting quite late and he was feeling pretty tired.

_One more message and I'll call it a night_, he promised himself as he scrolled further down his inbox.

As it turned out, the next one was a message from his long-time admirer Mr Sunflower. It was posted anonymously as usual, with the little sign-off at the end, but he would recognise that cutely corny (sometimes a little creepy) prose anywhere. He felt his heart lift. Mr Sunflower had not messaged him for some time now, and he did not realise how much he had missed his messages until now.

_My sweet Beauty, you were as exquisite as ever. I only wish I could have been the one to feed those beads into your lovely puckered anus. I can only imagine the sounds you would have made. Your beauty haunts my dreams._

Mr Sunflower had signed off his message with a 'love'. It made Alfred smile slightly. He took the warmth of the message with him as he shut down his computer and turned in for the night.

* * *

Ivan lay awake in bed that night unable to fall asleep. He listened as one of his flatmates returned home, stumbling in the corridor and singing something in his harsh German tongue, clearly drunk. It took him a few noisy tries and no small amount of cursing to unlock the door to his room, during which time the other flatmate had come out to scold him.

"Keep it down, aru!"

They retired into the kitchen after a short exchange, the latter insisting on feeding something to the drunken former and ignoring his clumsy attempts at flirting. Ivan listened as they stumped their way down the corridor. The sound of their footsteps grew fainter and fainter, until the kitchen door clicked shut and silenced rushed in as a loud whine.

Ivan flopped back into his pillow with a sigh. He stared up at the slanted ceiling for a while before tossing to his side. He closed his eyes. He opened them again. He could not sleep. He could not sleep, and he was mildly horrified with himself for this, but Alfred Jones was the reason why.

He replayed in his mind his brief encounter with Alfred in the library for what must be the hundredth time since he got home. Every time he did, he felt a strange fluttering sensation in his stomach and his cheeks flushed. He buried himself under his covers. He did not know what to think.

It took him a long time to go to sleep, during which time he could hear his German flatmate rush out of the kitchen and down the corridor to hurl into the toilet.

* * *

**Author's comment**

I ended up not changing too much of this chapter after all orz

The next chapter will be a Christmas/New Year special! I meant to have it written and posted by Christmas, but it didn't happen orz Do I dare promise it by New Year?

I'm really sorry, but it's a lot more difficult than I had imagined to write at home, there's not much privacy T_T

If you're still following this story, thank you very much! Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

* I imagine this to be from a certain lonely Englishman running a multi-fandom blog (mainly BBC programmes, y'know, Doctor Who, Merlin, Sherlock…), who saw these kinky Captain America cosplay-porn pictures on his dash, and found himself intrigued with the lovely young chap and his arse in spite of himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**American Beauty  
Chapter 4**

"So you are not coming home for New Year's either? Father will be furious."

Ivan shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. He had hoped to talk to his elder sister who was more accommodating, but he had caught Natasha instead. He glanced cautiously around him. There were quite a number of students milling in the area, waiting for a free pay phone to call home with, and he huddled closer to the receiver.

"Could you tell Father that I'm, uh, sorry? Sorry I can't make it home. And, uh, happy New Year. Tell him that for me?"

There was a small pause.

"Of course, brother."

Ivan let out a breath he did not realise he had been holding. He had done his son's duty, and was prepared to bid goodbye and hang up when Natasha spoke again.

"Did you receive my Christmas present, brother? In the post?"

"Present? Oh! Yes, of course, thank you, Natasha. I-I'm wearing it now." Ivan stroked the ends of his new hand-knitted scarf, a pleased smile brightening his face. "It looks really good, have you improved? Did Katyusha help you?"

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say as Natasha fell silent.

"Natasha?"

"Goodbye, brother."

There was an abrupt click. Ivan pulled away from the receiver, staring at it for a moment before slowly hanging it back on its cradle. The pay phone spat out his card which he took and stuffed absent-mindedly into his back pocket. When he turned to leave he saw that a small queue was already forming along the pay phones; students who were all doubtless hoping to call home and wish their family a happy new year.

As he walked past them, hefting his book bag over a shoulder, he supposed that longing and regret were normal reactions to being separated from your family during the festive season. He turned around a corner and, squaring his shoulders a little, headed towards the library.

* * *

Alfred came off Skype with a grin. He had just finished his weekly video chat with his family, and though he felt a little sad at having missed out on the family's Christmas gathering (and his mother's beautiful turkey roast), he decided he would not have given up his Christmas here for the world after all.

"Francis makes delicious stuff to eat too!" he said, perhaps a little too happily for his mother's liking as she began tutting over how thin he had gotten. It took a great deal of flattery, and the help of his younger brother Matthew (who was wearing a rather ill-advised Christmas sweater in his honest opinion), to assure her that nothing could ever beat mom's cooking.

He was scheduled to meet a classmate in half an hour's time to work on a presentation, and was just packing some books when his computer gave a little ping. It was a message from Kiku, his gaming buddy, asking if he was up for a game together.

_nope sry got a date :(_

_I see. It is okay. Please enjoy your date._

_haha i just got this meet w/ som guy 4 our presentation_

_Oh. You are dating a boy?_

"Wait, what?"

Alfred did a double take. He saw his mistake and launched into a frenzy of typing to set Kiku straight, but Kiku had added: _Please enjoy your date _ಠ◡ಠ

"…what's up with the creepy face?"

* * *

Before they had broken up for the holiday, the lecturer in the class he shared with Alfred Jones had asked everyone to pair up for a joint presentation project for after the New Year. Ivan had sat in his chair fiddling with his pen, too shy to ask someone to pair up with, as the class erupted into a frenzy of students reaching for their friends. He was the sort who was always left over when pairing or grouping up for joint projects and had to be assigned by the teacher to someone once everyone else had settled. He did not mind it as much as some might do, but even he could not help but feel lonely at times like this.

"Hey, uh, what's your name again? Brozowski?"

Alfred, who sat in front of him today, had twisted himself on his seat and, trying to avoid the flying elbows of a jostling crowd, was leaning forwards in a contorted position. It tugged at his shirt (a rich blue which complimented the shade of his eyes), and revealed his sculpted collarbones.

Ivan felt every drop of blood drain from his face then come shooting back up to engulf his head in flames.

He was aware of his mouth moving, perhaps correcting his name. But all he could hear was the din of the class, and Alfred was nodding dismissively and leaning forward to shout, "You wanna pair up with me?"

He could not recall it, but he must have said yes or conveyed agreement in some fashion because he left the class with Alfred's name, number, and email address scrawled in Alfred's large, untidy handwriting across the palm of his hand.

And now he sat in the library alone at a small round table, fidgeting on the spot, glancing at the time with nervous frequency, half-convincing himself that it had all been a mistake, that Alfred Jones had not actually asked to partner with him and was not going to turn up, he was going to have to trail to his lecturer's office and ask to be assigned to someone before the end of the day and… and…

He nearly leapt out of his skin when a hand dropped to his shoulder in a light pat.

"Yo! Didn't wait long, did y– uh… Are you alright?"

"Yes!" Ivan squeaked, heart hammering in his chest. He cleared his throat. "I mean you, uh, you just startled me, I'm, uh, sorry…"

God, he had to make such a _fool_ of himself!

But Alfred was laughing and pulling off his backpack, sitting down. "Sorry, sorry! Anyway, let's get started. What was our topic again? Wait, let me find my sheet, it's in here somewhere…"

In the end they spent the afternoon trawling the library for books, and decided to split the readings between themselves and meet another day to put their research together.

* * *

That night, after putting away his books and before turning for the night, Ivan took a moment to scroll through Tumblr one last time. He had decided to quit the site altogether.

Before finding out the Beauty's real identity, before meeting Alfred Jones and talking to him, and now working together and talking even more, he had no qualms masturbating to pictures of him. But it was different now. The Beauty was no longer just some fantastical beauty and was Alfred Jones, his classmate and partner in a joint project, and a really nice person all around. He did not want fantasies of the Beauty anymore, but Alfred's friendship.

He lifted his palm from the mouse and stared at Alfred's name and contact details still etched to his skin in faded blue ink. He had copied them onto his phone, his only contact besides his flatmates Gilbert and Yao in the country, but the ink was taking some time scrubbing off altogether. He had not touched himself once with the ink on his hand. He could still remember the warmth of Alfred's hand as it took his, and the ticklish sensation of the pen nib drawing across his palm. He clenched it close and returned his gaze to the blue of his Tumblr dashboard, reading the latest of the Beauty's messages:

"Hey guys, hope y'all had a great Christmas! Sorry for the lack of updates. I've been busy with college work and hanging out with friends and family. I don't know when I'll be free to shoot new pictures, but no worries! Got a stack of old ones I haven't published which I can clean up and queue for a couple of weeks. Should keep you occupied till I can shoot some more ;)

"Have a Happy New Year!"

Messages were already flooding in expressing regret and wishing him for Christmas or New Year. The usual perverts were attaching pictures of their dicks to his post. Ivan logged out of Tumblr for the final time and shut down his computer. He closed his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh.

It was the right thing to do, he thought firmly to himself. He no longer wanted the Beauty, he wanted Alfred and his friendship.

When he opened his eyes again he felt at peace and was smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

**American Beauty  
Chapter 5**

Some mistakes in life you recognise only in hindsight. For Ivan, the first mistake of the day had been to invite Alfred back to his dorm after the latter complained about the chairs in the library.

"They're just so rolly and… and… look!"

To demonstrate, Alfred attempted to roll his chair – a spindly contraption of metal and cushion with little wheels attached to the bottom of the legs – closer towards the table. The wheels squeaked in protest and jammed several times Alfred tried to pull it forwards, but they rolled backwards easily enough. It meant that Alfred was forever slowly drifting away from the table. Ivan felt for him. He was suffering the same irritation, but never thought to voice it.

"W-we can go to my dorm? I, uh, I only live, uhm, down the road. B-but only if you want to."

Alfred had brightened at the suggestion, however, eager for a break. "Sounds like a plan," he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. Ivan liked the way he shrugged.

They packed up their things and took out a couple of books on the way out of the library, dumping the ones they no longer needed back onto the returns trolley. Alfred was stopped a few of times by friends (mostly girls) from his other classes, saying hi and how are you and we should meet up sometime in varying degrees of flirtation; Ivan never knew how to act around them and mostly stood around feeling very, very conscious of how awkwardly his arms hung at his sides, returning their polite but puzzled smiles with nervous grimaces of his own.

The walk to his dorm took roughly five minutes. It was as close to campus as he had said, quite literally down the road and across at the traffic lights. Alfred voiced his marvel at the convenience and inwardly calculated just how many morning lectures living so close to campus would have saved him. He envied Ivan a little less after climbing six flights of stairs to his flat on the top floor.

"How do you do this every day?" he wheezed, but Ivan was hardly out of breath. Was he getting out of shape?

"I just got used to it," Ivan said apologetically.

They entered the flat, past the toilet and shower, and down the corridor smelling of something delicious (Yao's cooking undoubtedly) and wet laundry (Gilbert liked to save on drying costs by hanging his wet clothes to dry on the heater along the corridor). Ivan's room was the third door down, the one closest to the kitchen. He unlocked his door and held it open in welcome.

"This is my room," he said shyly. He was glad to have tidied it up earlier. "It's a bit, uhm, small. We could work in the kitchen if you'd prefer…?"

"N'aw, this is cool," Alfred said, stepping in. And without a second's hesitation he dropped his bag to the floor, flopped onto the bed, and stretched out with a glorious moan. "Oh god! This is just… sorry, it's been a long day, Braginski."

The words "it's okay" was halfway out of his throat when it caught and choked him. He stared, wide-eyed, at Alfred, Alfred Jones. Alfred Jones on his bed; writhing, spread-eagled, moaning. Alfred Jones and his sky blue eyes hazed with pleasure, lips slackly parted as if in invitation. Alfred Jones tossing now to his front, showing off his shapely rear encased in denim, the band of his underwear peeking out at his hips.

And Ivan realised with a jolt that he was hard. He paled at the horror of the situation; it was his second mistake of the day.

"You alright? You don't look so hot," Alfred said, sitting up. His clothes and hair had gotten dishevelled; he looked simply and ridiculously fuckable.

Ivan turned his back to Alfred before he could see what the matter was with him. His heart was in his throat. He needed an excuse quick, and squeaked out the first thing that came to mind, "Toilet! I'll be right back!"

That was his third mistake of the day.

* * *

Ivan burst into the toilet he shared with his flatmates, twisting the turn-lock and driving the bolt home, spinning round in the enclosed space and slamming against the door pasted with a notice for free sexual health advice. He stared, wild-eyed, at the sorry reflection he made in the mirror; face white with terror, glasses askew, chest heaving under his patterned jumper. And further down stood the source of his shame.

_Oh god oh god oh god_, his mind chanted over and over again, incapable of anything more coherent. Then in one sudden movement, as if seized by something, an inspiration, he unzipped his jeans and freed his erection, clasping his hands around it. His mind conjured an image of Alfred sitting on his bed, dirty blond hair mussed and blue, blue eyes darkened with desire, beckoning him over. He began to stroke himself to the fantasy; he was on the bed now with Alfred kissing those soft cherry lips as Alfred's hands stroked his erection, whispering, "Give it to me, give it to me, Ivan, please?"

_Yes, yes, anything you want, anything_. He would promise Alfred Jones the world.

His fantasy shifted and Alfred was splayed naked on his bed, holding his legs apart and urging him to put it in, hurry, _hurry_! His strokes quickened; he was fucking Alfred and _god_ it felt good; Alfred was moaning his pleasure, writhing under him, telling him, "Yes, yes, oh god yes! Like that, just like that!"

"Alfred _Alfred_," Ivan whispered hoarsely, needily. His hands flew up and down his shaft, bringing him closer to the brink, to his climax.

It came quickly enough, a shudder running up his spine as he cummed hard, blotting out his vision. It brought him a sharp pleasure bordering on agony; then a wave and another of peace, contentment. Satisfaction. He kept his eyes closed and sponged it all up, holding his now softening cock with hands stained with cum.

* * *

Alfred had lain back in bed and daydreamed a little when Ivan left for the toilet. But now he sat up, wondering if Ivan was doing a very difficult Number Two to take so long. He looked around the room to occupy his time.

A wash basin stood in the corner of the room at the foot of the bed, something he found quite novel. On the walls he found a calendar with pictures of sunflowers, a copy of Ivan's weekly timetable, and some photographs. Alfred studied the photographs with interest. They looked as if they were very recently taken; in one, Ivan was standing with two women, one very well-endowed in the chest area and looked to be on the verge of crying, and the other looked younger and very beautiful, with long light blonde hair topped with a red ribbon. Ivan stood very awkwardly in between the women, and for some reason seemed to be cringing from the ribboned beauty at his side.

"Oh my god, they're his _sisters_ or something!" Alfred gasped once he saw the family resemblance. None of the girls shared any of Ivan's awkwardness, but they looked undeniably related.

As his eyes flitted from one photograph to another, Alfred thought once more how badly he had misjudged Ivan the first time he saw him. He had avoided him just as everyone else had in class, due in part perhaps to the second-hand embarrassment one inevitably felt in his clumsy presence (and some serious wardrobe malfunction). But he had turned out to be nice. He was polite and soft-spoken, had helped him obligingly with the book he needed the first time they spoke in the library, and now he was turning out to be very hardworking on their project. Alfred had asked to partner up with Ivan as he was the only face he recognised in the big class they shared, and so far he was not regretting his decision. He was beginning to think it had been a stroke of good luck.

He had perused all the photographs on the wall, and still Ivan had not returned. Perhaps he could make a start on their project again until he came back. He had brought his laptop along, but it was running low on battery and he had stupidly forgotten his charger. But ah, there was Ivan's laptop! It looked pretty ancient, he thought with some measure of pity. He could start it up and get typing on it, though; all the relevant files were on his pen drive anyway.

Having decided on a course of action, Alfred sat down at the desk and set to work.

* * *

Ivan washed his hands with his shoulders slumped over the basin, feeling suddenly ill with the enormity of what he had just done. He had gotten aroused at Alfred, ran to the bathroom and fantasised further about fucking him, gotten himself off to those stupid thoughts and just… just how was he going to look Alfred in the eye again?

He scrubbed his hands harder together under the tap as if hoping to scrub off his embarrassment with enough force.

He needed to calm down. It would never happen again, he promised himself. Good god, it was fortunate he had not stained his clothes. He turned off the tap and listened to the water swirl down the drain. His face was dripping wet with the cold water he had splashed on, and he was looking a little better; some colour was returning to his face. He dried it with a paper towel and put his glasses back on with trembling fingers.

Alfred was probably wondering why he was taking so long. He flushed at the thought of Alfred asking; he was going to have to lie. But he better return now before Alfred came to check up on him.

* * *

"Sorry I took so long! Would you like something to dr–" Ivan stopped short. Alfred looked up. He was sitting at the desk with Ivan's laptop on, and Ivan did not know how he knew it, but he knew that Alfred had somehow figured out his dirty, shameful secret.

Ivan stepped through the door and shut it behind him, eyes cast down. Alfred remained frozen to his seat. Ivan shuffled his feet a little.

"I-I – it's n-n-not what it l-looks like," Ivan began without any idea what he meant to say. He glanced up to gauge Alfred's reaction – and wished he had not.

Alfred had not moved an inch, but his expression had transformed from wide-eyed shock to hatred. His eyes, usually so open and friendly, were narrowed now to an icy glare; his lips, usually relaxed with an easy laugh ready, were pressed together in a thin, firm line.

"You knew?" Alfred whispered.

Ivan could not bring himself to say anything. He nodded once, ashamed.

And suddenly Alfred was on him, pushing him back, back, back up against the wall, his hands fisted into the front of Ivan's jumper.

"Who did you tell?" Alfred spat. When Ivan did not answer, he shook him and slammed him against the wall, repeating, "Who did you tell!?"

"N-no-one!" Ivan cried fearfully.

Their faces were inches apart, both breathing hard. Alfred was still glaring at Ivan, and Ivan had his eyes downcast, his fear palpable. Then Alfred released him. His anger was dissolving to a fear of his own and he looked about him as if for a way out, an escape. Ivan stayed where he had been pressed to the wall. His glasses had slipped off his nose and they hung around his neck on a chain.

"A-are you going to tell on me?" Alfred asked, uncertainly.

"No, I would never, I swear!" Ivan said hurriedly. "I swear, I promise, I would never te–"

"Is everything all right?"

Ivan and Alfred both jumped at the voice at the door. It was Yao, sounding worried.

"Y-yes!" Ivan said. He had not realised how loud they had been. "Everything's, uhm, fine. Sorry, d-did we disturb y-you?"

There was a pause.

"No, but keep it down."

They listened to him pad down the corridor, the click of a door signalling he had returned to his room. Ivan and Alfred let out a collective breath they did not realise they have been holding.

"I'm s-sorry," Ivan said quietly, sadly.

Alfred was at a loss. He never expected to run into someone who knew of the Beauty, much less knew who the Beauty _was_. It was all coming as a massive shock. His thoughts were a jumble and he did not know what to do, what to say.

"Don't be," he found himself saying, and was surprised at how cold he sounded. Ivan flinched. He might have felt some pity for him, but he was not sure. He was not sure of anything at the moment.

He stooped to pick up his bag and slung it over a shoulder, feeling a vague need to get out of the room. He headed towards the door in short, jerky steps, Ivan stepping aside to let him through, looking thoroughly ashamed and pitiful. But just before he left he turned back around to face Ivan and said, "I don't ever want to see you again, do you understand?"

Ivan looked up slowly, his violet eyes wide with a crushing horror. He opened his mouth to say something, but Alfred wrenched the door open and stormed out. He did not look back once.


End file.
